Season 4
by MaryandMerlin
Summary: A collection of all the entries for the QLFC Season 4 in one place. A number of one shots ranging over genres, characters and themes. Feel free to take a peek!
1. Practice Round - The Queen

Snow White

To summon something is very much about getting something into your possession. Your task is to write about a possessive love. However, this isn't just as simple as the task sounds. You must think about the nature of a Summoning Charm. Have the possessive member of the pairing be doing what they can to "summon" the attention of the other.

 **Word Count:** Minimum 1,500, no maximum.

Your pairing must be initially one-sided. The person who is the possessive one must be madly in love/infatuated with the other, while the other does not like them/does not see them in that light.

The theme of 'possession' must be very clear and well defined throughout your story.

 **Prompts:** (You must pick two)

(emotion) Jealousy

(emotion) Insecure

(dialogue) "Why are you getting mad? I just hugged him." / "Because for a moment there, he held my entire world!"

(object) Photograph of couple

(dialogue) "Describe me in one word." / "Mine."

(quote) Simple things become complicated when you expect too much."

(theme) Trust and Mistrust

(emotion) Lustful

(dialogue) "I just can't stand the thought of losing you."

(plot) One half of a couple flirting with someone else.


	2. Round 1 - Bragging Rights

Write about Helga Hufflepuff (RWOW)

Write about a theft (FA) (item) chair (plot point) someone falls asleep (term of endearment/nickname) Goldilocks (item) porridge (word) little (colour) yellow (POV) write from the perspective of the thief (emotion/feeling) curiosity (location) woods (word) hot

Write about your chosen death eater (Rodolphus Lestrange) being with his friends (QLFC)

Write about someone taking offense (CFC)

Bragging Rights

"Well, it wasn't easy but I got it!" Rodolphus crowed as he jogged into the attic room. Bellatrix, Narcissa and Lucius all turned in their seats towards him losing interest in their game of exploding snap.

"You didn't," Bella snapped even though she could see the small golden cup dangling from one of his fingers.

"Are you going blind Bella?" Rodolphus mocked as he moved into the room passing by her chair before falling into his own. He held up one slim, pale hand letting the golden cup swing haphazardly from side to side. "What does this look like?"

"Can I see?" Narcissa asked leaning forward eagerly. She was a year younger than everyone else here at 15 and still had an air of innocent curiosity about her, drawn toward the gold like a wide eyed magpie.

Rodolphus made as if to pass her the cup holding it out but just as she reached for it he snatched it back smirking as she huffed back into her seat. Bellatrix and Lucius laughed cruelly as Rodolphus examined the carving of a badger and the elaborate H etched into the smooth, cool gold.

"How did you manage it?" Lucius asked, looking at his friend with a mixture of awe and jealousy. Everyone knew Lucius wanted Bellatrix but it was clear that out of the four of them Bella and Rodolphus were going to end up as the couple. Still Lucius couldn't help but like the other boy, he was everything and had everything he had always wanted.

"Magic," Rodolphus breathed, splaying his hands and widening his eyes mockingly.

Bella snorted. "Don't be an ass Roddy," she scoffed, "you know exactly what he meant."

"Well, it was rather simple really-"

"I thought you said it wasn't easy?" piped up Narcissa her eyes round.

"Hush goldilocks," Rodolphus shushed her with a small frown causing her to sit back with a blush. "Simple yes, easy, no. First I had to spike father's drink, just a little draught of living death to make sure he didn't come around. No one noticed really, all the servants just assumed he had gotten to his firewhiskey a little early was all. Retrieving the key was the simple part, I just snatched it from his desk. No the next part was the worst. I went to Gringotts."

"You broke into Gringotts!" Bella shot up in her seat and Rodolphus smirked at the shocked and impressed look on her face. Off to one side Lucius scowled at him.

"Not quite," Rodolphus sat up tall and imperious in his seat. "It's all about how you act you know Bella. Confidence, confidence is key." He stood up and strutted around loving the way all eyes followed him. "I strode up to those ugly little gremlin things and I told them. I wish to enter my vault. One has to really use the voice you know, I tried to just channel my father, or at least my father before he became a drunken lout. The little thing hesitated but I glared at him and he took me there. And here we are, one cup of Helga Hufflepuff. Told you I could do it."

There was silence for a few seconds as everyone in the room absorbed what they had heard, until Lucius finally shook himself out of his stupor. "Why do you even have this? It _Hufflepuff_ ," he sneered.

"I don't know how it came to us," Rodolphus admitted looking at the cup, "I suppose we took it from some stupid Hufflepuff who didn't know how important it was. They were probably using it for their porridge!" he laughed. "Father was always crowing about how important it was, I wonder if it has some magical properties or if he's just another little blood traitor like my grandfather."

"Helga Hufflepuff was a still a brilliant witch you know," piped up Narcissa with a frown. "Just because she was kind to people doesn't make her any less of a witch. In fact, I think it makes her a better one!" she insisted head held high.

Bella frowned and reached across slapping her sister on the arm.

"Ow! Bella! What did you do that for?"

"Don't you talk about that Cissy, not ever. Hufflepuffs are weak, kindness and love is weak. You know that and talking like that will only get you in trouble!"

"Well!" Narcissa huffed rubbing her arm, "a little bit of kindness would go a long way with you!"

Bella opened her mouth as if to continue the argument but they were interrupted by Rodolphus, who was rather put out that the attention was no longer on him.

"Hey, hey. No I don't want to listen to the two of you squabble. I didn't risk my neck getting this cup just so you could not be impressed by it." He shoved past them breaking their line of sight and their connection.

"You didn't risk your neck, you idiot," Bella scoffed. "You went to your family vault and withdrew an heirloom. That's no more impressive than buying a drink in the leaky cauldron."

He glared at her. "Well they never serve you!"

"Yeah but only because that barmaid is sweet on you, Merlin only knows why. Anyway, I'm sick of your bragging. Let's do something else," Bella stood taking Narcissa by the arm. She reached the door and looked back, piercing the still seated Lucius with a glare. He leapt up and scurried to her side. "Come on Roddy, you can put that cup back whilst we're out, you aren't impressing anyone here."


	3. Round 2 - Saviour

**Characters:** Theodore Nott

 **Genres:** Drama

 **Prompts:**

[location] The Owlery

[word] Incessant

[object] string

 **Round 2**

Potions

Write about someone utilising their skills or knowledge of the subject as part of their job

Saviour

Theo scanned the sheet of parchment anxiously, soaking up the inked words with a mixture of anger and despair. He reached the end and growled, scrunching the delicate piece of paper into his fist. Theo could feel himself trembling, shaking head to toe, and trying desperately not to scream his anger and frustration to the world.

Instead, he turned away from his owl and rested his head against the rough, cold stone of the Owlery, swallowing his emotions, letting the castle soothe him the way it always had. It was different now, though. Not only because this tower was high and Theo had always belonged safely underground, but now the castle that had been his home for twelve years was starting to feel less like a safety net and more like a prison.

He scrunched his fist tighter, feeling the sharper corners of scrunched parchment bite into the palm of his hand. It was a reminder of yet another failure that Theo really didn't need and he began to softly bang his head against the wall.

 _Dear Mr Nott,  
We regret to inform you that your application has been unsuccessful. Our systems feel you would not be a good fit amongst our ranks and that your skills would be better utilised elsewhere. Thank you for your time.  
Wishing you the best of luck in your future endeavours,  
Miss Melanie Haltin.  
Head Researcher at the New York Institute of Potion Development._

"Our systems feel," he ground out between his teeth, sarcasm dripping from his tone. "Systems don't feel. Stupid American, good for nothing, worthless piece of lying shi-"

"Professor?"

An owl fluttered past Theo, soft feathers brushed against his ear causing him to jerk out of his angry state. He jerked backwards and, feeling his heel dip off the edge of the stairs, pinwheeled his arms in a desperate attempt to regain his balance.

"Oh my god, Professor Nott!" a clatter signalled the frantic hurry of the student who had interrupted him as she rushed up the narrow steps to pull him back onto solid ground. Theo took a minute to catch his breath before deciding now would be an excellent time to return to firmer footing, or, at least, a staircase with a bannister.

"Miss Pitt," he murmured once he had regained his composure, trying to surreptitiously inch his way closer to the wall and away from the looming edge, "how can I help you?"

The 5th year Hufflepuff looked at him nervously and Theo felt himself cringe. He had never wanted to inspire the sort of fear that had followed old Snape around like a bad cloud. "P-professor Longbottom sent me to f-find you, Sir. He said he needed your help in the greenhouses right away, and he asked if you would bring your kit."

Theo sighed nodding his head. Freed from her duty as messenger the little Hufflepuff scurried away down the steps, silent as a mouse. He watched her disappear before starting down the steps himself. He ignored the overwhelming smell of bird that filled the room, instead wondering what it was that Neville had done to himself this time.

He picked up the pace; ignoring the incessant chatter of the students around him and crossing the castle in half the time he normally would to collect his emergency brewing kit from his office. He crossed the wide expanse of grass that led to the Herbology greenhouses and pushed open the door to greenhouse five. Neville only ever needed help when he was in greenhouse five.

"What on earth have you done to yourself now, Longbottom?" he asked, closing the door firmly behind him and scanning the writhing plants that filled the small space. He frowned slightly when the excitable Gryffindor didn't immediately pop up, brandishing whatever bloody wound he had inflicted himself.

"Longbottom?" Theo asked carefully making his way down the narrow aisle. "Are you okay?"

He made it half way down the length of the greenhouse before he heard the weak shuffle and moan of an injured person. "Nott?"

The croak was weak, almost breathy, and Theo wouldn't have heard it had he not been listening hard for any sound of life. Fear filled him as he rushed up the greenhouse and rounded a corner to see Neville Longbottom slouched against the windowed wall. He skin was pale and Theo could see a sheen of clammy sweat that covered him. His hair stuck up in every direction, his lips were parted and his breathing shallow. He kept muttering Theo's name, still desperately trying to gain his attention. Feverish eyes roved wildly beneath heavy, swollen eyes. His hand was mangled, black and pouring with blood.

"What the hell did you do, Neville?" Theo exclaimed, almost dropping his emergency kit in his rush to get to his wounded colleague.

"Cross… Ven…us….Ten…..nd…..De….nare" Neville muttered, waving his bleeding hand around.

"You... you crossbred Venomous Tentacular and Devil's Snare?" the Potions master screeched kneeling down next to the lethargic Herbology teacher. He opened his bag and started to rummage through pulling out vials and ingredients. He spelled a small fire into existence and filled a vial with water setting it to boil.

"Of all the stupid things," he muttered shaking his head as he examined his patient. He couldn't be sure if the purple was simply bruising or poison but either way, it was spreading at an alarming rate. He tied a string bandage tightly at Neville's elbow, hoping to slow the rate before it got out of hand. He transfigured a dish and filled it with Essence of Dittany before setting Neville's hand in the bowl and making sure the whole gash was covered by the purifying liquid. It wouldn't do more than kill the poison on the surface, but it would leave the gash clean so that he was able to administer the antidote.

Theo turned back to the now bubbling vial of water and considered the array of ingredients before him. It wouldn't do to use a whole bezoar, but if he ground it and added the dust it would make an excellent base ingredient. He did so, adding the whole ground bezoar to the potion before adding thyme, goji berry extract, and three moon dust petals. He tipped some of the pale blue liquid into another vial whilst it was still liquid and stirred the rest until it became thick.

Theo carefully tipped Neville's pale lips open and poured the liquid into his mouth, making sure he swallowed it all, before taking his arm out of the Dittany and slathered the open wound in the thicker cream he had made. He made sure to use it all and then sat back, waiting for any sign that his concoction was taking effect.

A few tense minutes passed with no visible sign of improvement, but then Neville's lips parted and his shallow breaths became fuller and healthier. Colour returned to his skin and he stopped sweating as profusely. A few minutes later Neville started to sit up and his eyes opened properly having lost their feverish glaze.

"Thank you," he whispered eventually, his voice still as hoarse but not from illness.

"What the hell were you thinking, Longbottom?" Theo growled at him, starting to pack away his kit now that his patient was recovering. "Of all the stupid, dangerous things you could have done, you bred those two plants together. Two of the most dangerous plants in the whole of the wizarding world!"

"You know, Nott, your bedside manner leaves a lot to be desired," Neville struggled to his feet and smiled wearily at him. "If you ever do get into a Healer school you'll need to work on that."

Theo's eyes snapped to the Herbology teacher quickly and they narrowed suspiciously. He looked the other man up and down closely but Neville only smiled pleasantly back at him. He shook his head, deciding not to pursue it any further, and snapped his bag shut. "Next time," he warned, "don't expect me to save you from your wacky experiments."

Neville laughed, "Of course not."


	4. Round 3 - The Huntsman

**Fairytales OWL** (2000)

Little Red Riding Hood

A chase

A 'huntsman'

Cinderella

'ugly sisters'

A 'wicked stepmother'

 **Round 3**

Cannon

2751-3000

Write about someone surviving a dangerous attack

The Huntsman

"Bring me her heart."

Regulus took a deep breath of cold, stale air. The thick, stone wall was rough against his back but the solid feel of it grounded him. It had been only a few minutes since he had escaped the throne room, but it felt like a lifetime. He knew that time wasn't on his side and that he had little choice but to carry out Queen Bellatrix's demands, or forfeit his own life.

Regulus's fingers dug into the stone behind them, as if he could sink through the stone and escape the terrible duty that had been forced upon him. The princess, she was so young, so beautiful, and so innocent. The idea that she had become 'loose of morals' was more than laughable, but the Queen obviously thought her stepdaughter had become a danger.

"Bring me her heart."

He scrunched his eyes tightly, trying desperately to banish the haunting echo that those words imprinted on his brain, but he could not silence the smug voice and he could not rid himself of the image of the Queen. She lounged so gracefully, in her beautiful golden gown, draped across the throne like the regal figurehead she was. Her skin pale, her lips red and thick, luscious curls bounced down around her shoulders. It was always hard to breathe in her presence but as she had sat up the beauty had twisted. The once serene face changed, the gentle curves became sharp lines and the red lips became a gruesome slash across her face.

He sighed, letting all of the air leave his body and releasing all the tension from his tight muscles. This was an impossible choice, one he was reluctant to make, but it had to be done. He was but one in the long line of Black men who had served as huntsman to the royal family of this kingdom, it would not do well to fail his heritage now.

Regulus allowed himself one last second of weakness, of resistance, before he pushed away from the wall. He clenched and released his fists, raised his head and opened his eyes. A sense of calm leaked into his muscles and he regained his composure. In two even strides he had pushed open the heavy tapestry that hid his cubby-hole from the rest of the castle.

There was no more time for hiding.

X

Regulus chucked his large, full hunting bag onto the wooden counter allowing the dull thunk and rattle alert the owners to his presence. As he waited, Regulus glanced around the dark, shadowy shop taking in the racks and shelves laden with weaponry. The large and small leather bags hanging on the wall, the various survival equipment and the large array of animal hides and heads that decorated every available wall space. Light filtered through the grimy windows, gleaming off well sharpened blades, and the rickety door rattled in its frame.

"Goodness, it has gotten dark in here hasn't it."

"You're right, it's all Black and gloomy."

Regulus turned back and stared hard at the two young men behind the counter. They stared right back, dark humour coloured their eyes and smirks. It was dark and gloomy in the shop, everything was brown, black and grey, even their clothes, though they did provide the only colour in the place both sporting a shock of ginger hair.

"You should watch your mouths, Weasleys. I hold the future of this little shop in the palm of my hand, and I know little sister won't live long if you have no money to buy her medicine."

Fred and George smirked at him. Identical smirks laced with bitter anger and fierce protectiveness. Regulus knew he was baiting lions, but at the moment he didn't care. He had gone straight back to the place where he was cool and suave. Determined to do everything to please his Queen, even if that meant upsetting some peasant twins.

"I don't think our Huntsman is in the mood for our particular brand of witty banter today, Fred," said George without breaking eye contact.

"Perhaps he just can't keep up," countered Fred, leaning forward to rest his forearms on the counter. He pierced Regulus with an unnerving stare. "Or perhaps his mood is related to his… unfortunate task."

"What do you know of my business?" Regulus demanded, his eyes narrowing as anger sharpened his tone. Out of habit he reached down to grip the handle of his dagger, always prepared for any sort of danger.

Fred and George exchanged looks and Reguus cursed silently for falling prey to the inquisitive and manipulative natures. He had walked straight into their trap, and given them exactly what they wanted to know.

"What can we do for you today, Mr Huntsman?" Fred asked, straightening up with a sickeningly smug expression on his face. Regulus clenched and unclenched the dagger, willing his blood to calm so that his dagger didn't end up in one of their throats. He needed them, they were a unique advantage with their creative experiments.

"What sort of weapon are you looking to purchase?"

"I need something, special. Something that will provide a quick death, minimum pain, accurate. Price isn't a problem, you know that and the Queen is particularly determined to have this prize, quickly." Regulus flicked his eyes between the two young men, with their vibrant hair, their quick eyes and their deceiving tales. He didn't trust them, not really, but they were the closest things he had to friends in this line of work. No one wanted to be close to the Queen's puppy dog.

They looked at each other for a long time, silently conversing. It felt like forever in the too quiet shop but, eventually, they nodded quickly at each other. George whirled and disappeared through the door and into the back of the shop whilst Fred watched him with a tight smile that betrayed the uncertainty lurking in his eyes.

X

They called it a pistol. Some knew invention the pair had been working on in secret. It worked just like a cannon in miniature. You lit the fuse and once the powder ignited a heavy little ball of lead shot out the hole and was propelled at high speed straight into your target.

Regulus preferred to think of it as a hand cannon, an instrument of war as much as death. Painting this whole situation as just another battle in another war made him feel a little more detached from it all. It made him feel like he wasn't about to murder and innocent young girl because her step mother was a jealous old crone.

Regulus bit his tongue, as if his thoughts might suddenly leap from his mouth and he might end up strung in the gallows.

The small, shiny black cannon was made from a thick, durable metal and hung heavily against his hip. He had never worn a weapon so dense and it bumped into him with every step he took. It was a small comfort knowing that he had an option in all of this chaos, but it just reminded him that she was walking around the palace on borrowed time.

His trip to the throne room was disturbingly like de-ja-vu. It had been only two days since Queen Bellatrix had demanded that he bring him her heart and now he had been summoned again. A small part of him hoped she had changed her mind and would release him from this terrible burden.

The two emotionless, gilded guards who flanked either side of the massive throne room doors, straightened slightly when he rounded the corner. They stared straight ahead until he came to a stop and then, with surprising unity, they turned and reached for the giant handles, swinging the door open in one smooth motion.

Light flooded from the throne and Regulus squinted, momentarily blinded. He made his way forward, his vision adjusting, and came to a halt in front of the raised dais. Without looking at his Queen or Princess, Regulus dropped to one knee, head bowed. The intricate tiling swam before his eyes and his heart pounded.

"Rise, Huntsman."

The Queen's voice was sweet, laced with honey and innocence. The beautiful Queen had returned to replace the twisted, jealous monster and for a moment Regulus could almost convince himself that she was as serene as she appeared to be. Regulus rose slowly, maintaining his respectful aura, and looked at the women in front of him.

Bellatrix sat upon her golden throne, the King's seat looked smaller and more mundane next to her splendour. She really didn't need anyone to rule by her side. She was regal and resplendent in a silken gown dyed the deep, rich colour of wine. Golden embroidery laced through the collars and cuffs and sparkled down the wide skirt. Her thick, dark hair was piled upon her head, with a golden crown nestled atop her brow. This left the wide expanse of her pale neck and creamy skin exposed and the eye was automatically drawn to the string of rubies laced into a choker that adorned her throat like a bloody gash.

She was breath taking. There was not a man alive, or even a few women, who could not look upon the soft, regal beauty of this woman and be knocked over. Hers were looks to kill and, as Regulus looked up to her face, though her tone was full of sugar, her eyes were full of spice.

"How may I be of service, Your Majesty?" Regulus murmured, trying to keep his eyes focused on the Queen so that he could ignore the delicate Princess beside her. Behind Bellatrix her two lady's maids, they giggled and preened like silly girls, fluttering like overstuffed parrots but they served as a suitable distraction for his eyes.

Lady Lavender, the daughter of a Duke, was a tall, slim girl with pale skin, big eyes and a mass of golden hair. She would have most suited blues or reds to bring out her eyes or offset her hair but by some horrible twist of fate she was today dressed in orange. The bright garish colour did nothing to complement the over-sized skirt of tool and fluff but from the way the girl was making eyes at him Regulus could only assume she didn't realise how sickly she looked in the ensemble. Beside her Lady Parvati, one of the daughters of the Marquis of Hogsmeade, had obviously noticed the terrible clash of skin and gown, throwing cruel smirks at her 'friend' when the former wasn't looking. Lady Parvati had taken advantage of her exotic heritage and had dressed to impress with a simple gown of lilac off set by her thick, dark hair which had been woven with jewels and flowers. Despite her lower rank in society, Regulus had no doubt believing that it would be Parvati picked first to dance at a ball.

"I have a special job for you today, Huntsman," the Queen continued as Regulus made his observations. "I need you to escort our dear Princess through the woods to the village." Regulus flicked his eyes back to the Queen, noting the wicked shine in her eyes. "You see, our soldiers are out on patrols and Hermione, well she is such a dear, that she wants to go and help the villagers. Food, blankets, you know the like and well," Bellatrix paused here, one delicate hand came to rest on her chest and her eyes became as round as plates, her voice breathy with concern, "you should know, Huntsman. The woods are no place for a Princess all alone."

Regulus felt his throat grow tight. "No," he replied, his voice hoarse, "of course not. No young girl should be alone in those woods, let alone a Princess. I will of course accompany her."

"Oh, thank you Regulus!"

Regulus's head snapped to the side completely of its own accord. He found that his heart stopped, his head grew fuzzy and all of a sudden Regulus realised exactly why the Queen felt so threatened by Princess Hermione.

She sat upon a smaller throne, silver painted rather than gold. Her thick, brown curls hung loose around her shoulders and a small, silver tiara nestled in thick of it. She wore a simple gown of light pink. It was sewn through with thread that shimmered as she moved but otherwise the Princess was unadorned. Her posture was perfect, her skin a light, healthy colour. Her eyes sparkled warm and brown and her pink lips framed a bright, happy smile. She was beautiful in a softer, more homely way than the Queen could ever hope to be; but it was not her beauty that made Hermione such a danger.

She had known his name. A name Regulus had not heard since he started working as the Huntsman. How she had learned it, he had no idea, but it made everything perfectly clear. Hermione would have the love of the people, simply because she cared.

"I would have asked Prince Draco to escort me, but I understand that he is here on important state business and so my dear step-mother has need of him." Hermione looked up at the Queen from her lower seat and smiled. It was an innocent smile filled with warmth, kinship and even love and it twisted painfully in Regulus's heart to see her gaze so happily on a woman who only wanted her dead.

"We can leave within the hour, your Highness," Regulus said quietly. He nodded first to the Princess, who smiled back at him, and bowed to the Queen who gave him a look. Regulus knew what he had to do.

X


	5. Round 4 - Winged Dreams

Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition: (29th May 2016)

 **Round 4:** Write from the POV of an Owl

 **Word Count:** 900-3000

A sea or beach must be incorporated into your story

Winged Dreams

Errol sighed in soft pleasure, a little puff of air passing his beak. The breeze in this part of the country was much more pleasant. It was always warm, tinged with the hope of summer, and laced with the salty edge of the nearby sea. It ruffled his feathers like a gentle caress as he glided towards his destination. It was nothing like the sharp, northern winds that surrounded that horrible castle, all cold and snowy. Every owl was housed in that big, drafty, open tower and whilst the others huddled together for warmth, no one wanted to huddle with Errol.

It was true that Errol was often cast aside for bigger, and better prospects. Even his old master, the tall, pointy redhead, had cast him off to his younger brothers in favour of an eagle owl. Granted she was the most beautiful creature Errol had ever seen with two wings, with sleek, mahogany feathers and big, bright eyes. He knew she was a finer specimen than he could ever hope to be, and she had claimed his space in busy London and left him to service the many redheads in that cold, dreary school.

He tilted his wings, angling for direction and enjoyed the change in the way the breeze moved through his feathers, allowing it to distract him from his morbid musings. He focused on the muscles in his wings and the comfortable weight of the missive the female redhead had charged him to take to the scarred one. The little cottage came into sight, filling him with new strength at a journey so nearly completed.

Errol chirped in relief and delight. He spotted the beautiful, blonde woman through the window of her cottage, and he could almost feel the comfort of her stroke on his head, the warmth of the fire, and the comfort of the perch he knew they kept. Suddenly, the salty breeze tasted sweeter, and the distance was not so difficult.

As he grew closer and the window grew larger, he became distracted. He could see quite clearly that one side was open, waiting for him to swoop through, but his eyes became confused. The shine of the glass swayed and danced the closer he got, and he tilted his wings in a vain attempt to aim for the opening. Errol braced himself for the inevitable impact, the thud and squeal as he hit the window and slid down it. He always missed…

Thwack!

He squawked, shocked by the impact, as he was thrown sideways from an unprecedented collision. It was not the normal, solid impact of stone and brick that Errol was expecting, but rather a small, swift, squishy sensation that hit him from the side and sent him spinning out of control. He hit the ground with several small bounces, landing on the soft, slippy sand of the nearby beach in a less than graceful heap.

Errol struggled to stand on shaky legs, his claws grasping to find purchase on the loose sand. He ruffled his wings, spreading them out wide in an attempt to shake out the sand grating between his feathers. He blinked, large, owlish eyes clouded with confusion, as he looked around to see what had hit him mid-flight.

There was a muffled squeak and the sound of shifting sand somewhere to his left. Errol let out a soft, cautious hoot and spun his head towards the sound. He spotted a small ball protruding from the sand and warily edged closer. He jumped back in alarm as the small, white, fluffy ball began wiggling furiously. Whatever it was, it was obviously stuck. Should he help it? Errol glanced down at his wings, _could_ he help it?

It didn't seem to matter in the end as, with an almighty heave, the ball freed itself and, with a loud squeak, landed with a soft thud on the sand. Errol cocked his head to the side and realised, with some shock, that the object that had collided with him was actually another owl. He peered at it, curious but cautious, and hooted softly in question.

The little snowy owl, who seemed to be more feather than flesh, spun around at the sound, and Errol saw that 'it' was actually a she. She fought for her footing and looked at him with wide, honey-coloured eyes. She started to chirp out her response but, as if overcome by some ladylike decorum, she attempted to groom her riotous feathers into something presentable instead.

"Who are you?" She ducked her head, continuing the attempt at smoothing her appearance. Errol tilted his head at her, an odd little bubble forming in his chest as he watched her. She was so small, so cute. So clumsy. Just like him.

"Errol," he replied, bobbing his head in greeting, "you flew into me just now."

"Oh!" She seemed to get even smaller in her embarrassment. "I'm so very sorry, I thought I'd hit a wall. I usually hit a wall you see. My feathers, they get in my eyes and…" she tittered, "I'm sorry, you don't need to hear my rambling."

"No!" Errol replied and she popped her head back up at the strength in his tone. "I just- erm- I mean- well… I don't mind listening to you," he finished quietly.

"Oh, well." A short silence followed where neither bird was quite sure what to say. "Oh, my letter! Where is it? Is it still there?" She spun on the spot, like a dog chasing its tail, one leg sticking out from under her, but the large volume of feathers prevented her from seeing the crumpled piece of parchment that was, indeed, still attached to her leg.

"It's still there," he promised, trying not to look too amused.

"Thank you," she paused, slightly out of breath and suddenly aware of how foolish she must have looked.

"You're welcome, erm…?" he prompted, edging closer.

"Oh! Oh, yes. I am sorry. Elise, my name is Elise. I'm here to deliver a letter to that little cottage over there, to my mistress's sister. Fleur Delacour, erm, Weasley. She used to be a Delacour you see, but she married and, well, now she's a Weasley."

She fell silent, trying to smother her wandering tongue, but Errol couldn't help thinking how cute it was, how adorable she was. "Well, perhaps I could fly with you, guide you if you go astray?"

"Oh, you don't have to do that," she hurried to say, "it would take you out of your way."

"Not at all," Errol stuck out his own leg, displaying his own message. "I am bound for the scarred redhead who lives with the blonde lady at that cottage too. So no trouble."

"Oh!" she brightened. "Well, thank you, Errol. That would be so helpful. Should we go?"

Errol nodded and spread his wings to the extent of their span, hoping to look impressive as he took to the skies. They had both been knocked off course by the collision but not by far, and Errol couldn't bring himself to be upset by the change of plans.

The warm, sea-soaked breeze that had already been so pleasant became impossibly sweeter as he looked over at his flying companion to find her also looking back at him. It sent a thrill through him he had never experienced whilst flying before, and he began to feel giddy, lighter than air.

Looking back, Errol realised that he should have known what guiding this young bird to safety had meant for him. What this added distraction would mean for his already disastrous record.

Sadly, this retrospect came only after Elise glided smoothly through the window, and Errol collided soundly with the wall.


	6. Round 5 - Now You See Me

**Round 5**

Object: Letter from the past

Your object must play an important role in the story. Like the word prompt, it just CANNOT be thrown in.

900-3000

 **CO-PARENTING:**

Write about something that will never end. This can be anything.

 **Treasure Hunt:**

B2: Emotion – Confused

 **Tea Cups:**

(title) Now You See Me

Now You See Me

Scorpius sighed as he shrugged his coat up his shoulders. The late February air was surprisingly sharp and an unforgiving wind stung his cheeks and the tops of his ears. He nuzzled further into the soft, worn wool that lined the collar but it did little to sooth the cold inside him.

He had fought with Rose, that's why he was out so late. It was stupid, and sort of childish, but he'd stormed out anyway. With James still so young, not even two yet, it was difficult to let off steam properly; there was no satisfaction in whisper shouting. So everything remained bottled up, tight inside of him, until tonight everything had just bubbled over like a pot too long on the stove.

Sighing, he remembered the hushed and hurried words laced with poison that they had thrown at each other across the kitchen. He wasn't proud of the things he had said, but he couldn't help the feeling of resentment, of confusion, of confinement that had grown in his heart over the last few weeks.

He chuckled to himself as his little finger got caught in a hole in the sleeve of his coat. He had been so angry, so blinded by rage and the need to escape that he hadn't even registered which coat he had picked up. It had been years since he had worn this, his first winter out of Hogwarts. It had felt like such a big, amazing world back then; full of hope and possibility.

Scorpius shuddered, shoving his hands deep into his pockets as a gust of wind rocked him. The insides were threadbare, but something else snagged his attention. He pulled his hand out of his pocket and looked down at a crumpled bit of parchment. It was faded and soft with neglect, but the sight of it was still enough to make Scorpius' breath catch in his throat and his heart stutter.

He stopped walking and let the flood of memories overwhelm him. All the pain and confusion that had plagued him in those days. He slowly, almost reluctantly, unfolded the paper and smoothed it between his palms. The words were still sharp and black, almost as fresh as the day they had been inked.

 _Scorpius,_

 _I can't do this anymore. I can't stand here, in between the two of you, and get torn apart. It's hurting me, you and my family. So, I think we should end it. There's no way we could know if it would work between us anyway, and my dad will always be my dad, so I'm just going with the most sensible choice here. The most secure. I hope you understand that I have to look out for my family and my future, not just my heart._

 _There will always be a place for you in it._

 _This is goodbye, Scorpius._

 _Rose._

It was nearly six years since he had received this letter. He remembered getting it. They'd had a fight just like this one, but instead it was about her father. He still couldn't get over the fact that his baby girl was dating the enemy, and it had been tearing them apart.

Scorpius had felt his knees buckle as he'd fallen into a nearby chair, his heart shattering on the way down. Rose was his everything, the only goal he had ever really strived to achieve, and it was over. He had let her father come between them when the only people who had mattered in this whole relationship were him and her. He remembered how the determination had filled him, how this same determination was filling him now.

Scorpius crumpled the letter in his hand and shoved it back into his pocket. He turned on his heel and started to run. He ignored the way the wind caught his coat, causing it to flap around him, and how his nose was so cold it had started to run. All that mattered right now, was that he went home to his wife and his son and made up for all the stupid things he had said and done.

He rounded the corner, hopped the gate and burst through the front door, catching it in time to stop it slamming into the wall. He winced at just how close he had come to waking his sleeping, toddler son. Rose's head snapped up, her eyes wide with alarm. She was sat at the breakfast bar, framed by the door to the kitchen, and she looked so shocked and beautiful Scorpius couldn't help smiling.

"What are you doing?" she hissed, glancing upwards as if she could see James through the ceiling. Scorpius strode forward purposefully, shedding layers as he went, until he stood in front of Rose and opened his palm to reveal the letter. Rose took it from him and scanned the lines, she looked up with a frown. "Are you trying to tell me something?"

"Yes!" Scorpius exclaimed. "No!" he corrected when her face fell. "Well yes, but not what you think. I don't want a divorce or anything. I'm trying to tell you that our stupid fight doesn't matter. Look how far we have come, Rose. I fought for you then, and I will fight for you now. We are married and have a beautiful son, and I'm not going to let a bit of frustration get in our way when I faced down Ronald Weasley to win your heart. I will always fight for us. Please, forgive me?"

"Only if you will forgive me too." Rose smiled up at him. "I have been so horrible and picky lately, snapping at every little thing. I mean, you remember how I was when I was carrying James, but that's no excuse, and I promise this time I'm going to be better, though everything does sort of make more sense now—"

"Wait, this time?"

Rose opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She looked a little like a deer in the headlights. She closed her mouth and blushed, nodding slightly. "I took the test when you stormed out," she admitted sheepishly. "I had meant to tell you in a slightly calmer way, but, well, I—"

"You ramble," he pointed out affectionately amused. She nodded, mouth firmly closed. "Well, I hope the next one gets your charm, just not that riotous hair!"


	7. Round 7 - Let Down Your Hair

Fairytale's Book 6

(AU) Rapunzel!AU

(location) Tower

(object) Yellow Flower

(plot theme) Mother/Wife is gravely ill

(dialogue) "Let down your hair."

(word) Silk

 **Round 7**

S. S. Golden Embers - Ron/Pansy

 **Herbology**

Write about someone bringing a change to a person's cold heart.

(500-3000)

Extra Prompts:

(dialogue) "Why is it always me?"

Let Down Your Hair

There was a throbbing in the darkness, it was deep-rooted and constant. Ron struggled against it, longing to submerge himself back in the oblivion of sleep, but the pain wouldn't let him. It tugged and tugged, drawing him slowly but surely back into consciousness. His body woke up faster than his mind, and as he began to shake off the grogginess of sleep he became slowly aware that he wasn't in his bed in the castle, but rather in a chair. A chair he couldn't escape.

His body reacted to this news. As his muscles jumped and strained, his eyes flew open at the bite of rough ropes cutting into the soft skin of his wrists. The room was dark, all the windows had been covered, but he could just make out hazy shapes surrounding him, though he had no idea what they were.

Ron let his head drop forward as a familiar feeling stole over him. "Why, why is it always me?" His mother, his poor mother, was always lamenting at his inability to keep out of trouble. She always joked that he would be the death of her. Perhaps he would be.

He groaned as the throbbing in his head picked up speed. He searched the black parts of his memory, trying to pick out the events that had brought him to this place. He remembered being in the forest, searching for that damned flower, and then…singing? A tower? It was too faint and blurred, whatever, or whoever, had hit him on the head had done a good job of putting him out.

A thought occurred, and he squinted around the room. The windows had been mostly covered, and despite the little light that still leaked through, there was no hope of discerning what time of day it was. He had no idea how long he had been out for, hours, maybe even a whole day if he was unlucky. He didn't know how much time his mother had left. Maybe she had gone already.

Ron was distracted from his morbid thoughts by a rustle in the darkness. He snapped his head up, ignoring the stab of pain, and squinted into the shadows but could see nothing. Behind him, the sound of feet padded on the floorboards and there was a quiet whisper, like the trailing of silk. He struggled in his chair but couldn't turn towards the sound.

"Who's there?" he demanded, twisting as far as he could go. The feet padded closer, and Ron couldn't tell if it was a man or a woman who was coming for him. Ron struggled, panicking, but stopped when the flat blade of a knife was pressed against his throat.

The blade wasn't as sharp as it could have been, so this wasn't a practiced mercenary, and the hand that held the blade was decidedly delicate and feminine. He opened his mouth to speak but the blade pressed further into his throat and he cut off.

"Who are you?" she hissed. "Who sent you here?"

Ron opened his mouth to speak, but choked, his eyes flicking down to indicate the knife. She eased up the pressure but didn't move the knife and Ron began. "No one sent me, I swear, well not here at least. I'm looking for something for my mother. She's sick and, well, no one can do anything for her, but there are rumours about a flower, a magical flower. It sounds stupid, but it's the last hope."

"Don't lie to me," she warned, but her grip slackened slightly on the knife. Ron was sure he was saying the right sort of thing. "I haven't seen any _magic flower_ ," he chafed against the slight mocking tone in her voice, "and I certainly haven't seen anyone poking around here before, so why did you come to my tower?"

Ron shook his head lightly, "I don't know." Her grip tightened. "What I mean to say, is that I don't remember. Someone hit me rather hard on the head and my memory has gone funny, I think there was singing?"

"Singing," she murmured.

"I just know that I have to find this flower, if it even exists, and save my poor mother."

Ron sensed her hesitation, her momentary distraction, and he pounced. Loathe as he was to hurt a woman, Ron threw the bulk of his weight backwards, rocking the chair violently and ploughing into the young woman behind him. She cried out in surprise and pain, dropping the knife and falling to the floor.

Ron caught the knife in his outstretched hand and manoeuvred the blade into position to cut the rope that bound his hands to the arms of the chair. He was quick and well-practiced at such things from years of war games with his brothers, and with one arm free, it was far easier to free the other and his feet. Very soon he was standing as the girl picked herself up, and this time he was armed.

She was such a tiny thing that he was amazed she had the strength in her to knock him out. So slight a strong wind might send her tumbling, with pale skin and big dark eyes she was really quite striking. Though it wasn't her delicate features that held his attention, rather the mounds and mounds of thick, long hair that hung from her head and criss-crossed the room behind her, fading into the shadows.

She looked up at him, something akin to fear painting her features, but her eyes held nothing but defiance. "Well?" she demanded. "What are you waiting for?" Her hands curled into fists, clutching at the folds of her skirt.

Ron looked at her, and then at the knife in his hand. Her gaze seemed rooted to the weapon and he understood. "Listen, I have no intention of hurting you. I don't know how, or why I ended up in here, but I just want to leave, to go and to help my mother. No one needs to hurt anyone." Her eyes flew to him, quickly searching his face looking like a frightened deer.

"I don't believe you. I attacked you and I tied you up, I hit you in the head with a broom actually-"

"A broom, really? I didn't realise they hurt so much."

"-what do you get out of not tying me up, or even killing me?"

"I'm not in the habit of attacking unarmed young girls. Now, I'm going to put this knife down, and we're going to talk. Can you promise me you aren't going to attack me?" Ron held her heavy gaze until, reluctantly, she nodded. Slowly, he placed the knife on the floor and it clunked onto the wooden panels. He stood up, his hands spread as if placating an animal about to balk. "Now, my name is Ron. What's yours?"

"Pansy," she muttered sullenly.

"Nice to meet you, Pansy. You have, erm, lovely hair." He ignored the look of disbelief that etched her face and continued on. "Surely we can help each other here, Pansy. I want to help my mother, there must be something you want too?"

"Out!" she said without missing a heartbeat. She straightened and her eyes lit at the prospect. For a second he was confused, mistaking her meaning as ordering him to leave. "I want out of this awful prison. Do you know, you're the first real person I've seen other than my mother?"

Ron looked at this girl and considered her in a new light. She was cold and ruthless and tough, but that might just be because she had never known companionship, or love. He had 6 other siblings, it was hard to get a word in edgeways but he had never been alone.

"I can tell you about the flower?" she offered.

"You said you didn't know about any flower," Ron countered suspicion clouding his heart.

"No," she corrected, looking slightly sheepish. "I said I'd never seen the flower, but I think I know the one you're looking for. My mother is always going on about the magic flower when she thinks I'm not listening. She comes back with bright yellow petals and boils them into a tea for herself every few weeks. I don't know what it's for, but it might be just what you need?"

Ron felt the first stirrings of hope in his chest, much as he tried to clamp down on them. He pictured his mother as she was now, wasting away in her bed with barely the energy to breathe. He needed this, they needed this. "So you want out of here, and in return, you'll lead me to this flower?"

Pansy nodded enthusiastically, lighting up inside. She started to fidget as if the excitement were too much and she needed to get moving right now. "Okay, deal. Now, how do we get out of here."

"We climb!" she exclaimed rushing past him, tugging down a blanket strung across the window and throwing the shutters wide. A foggy memory of crawling through those shutters danced across his memory. He looked around for a rope. "No, silly," she giggled, surprising Ron with the carefree almost childish sound, "my hair."

Ron stalked into the darkened shadows and scooped up a great mass of blonde hair. He carried the tangled mess over to Pansy, who was still by the window, and dumped it in her arms as she grinned up at him. "Well then Pansy," he smiled down at her, "let down your hair."


	8. Round 8 - Ascending

Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition:

 **Round 8**

How and when does Voldemort 'win' or rise to power?

Ultimate Chocolate Frog Card Challenge:

Incorporate a magical sporting event

Astronomy

Write about someone with a split personality

Extra Prompts:

(action) sprinting

(character) Hermione Granger

(word) deadly

(500-2000)

Ascending

Peter coughed out a breathless giggle, the noise high and unnerving, laced with fear and excitement. His tiny eyes darted quickly around the assembled figures and a shiver ran up his crooked spine. He chewed on his lower lip with overgrown teeth as his claw-tipped fingers tapped against each other. The noise was loud in the impatient silence.

There were ten of them, gathered in this hidden corner, and all of the others wore thick black robes. They shifted and twitched as the crowd above them roared and the wooden beams trembled. It must have been hot in those masks and under all that fabric; not for the first time, Peter was glad he didn't have to dress so ridiculously. He had been waiting nearly twenty years for this day, and it was finally upon them.

There was the unfortunate incident, a few years ago, when Harry Potter and his ever vigilant friends had all but destroyed the Dark Lord. He was left once again as a wisp in the darkness but Peter, having escaped his terrible fate, returned loyal as ever. He built up his master, bringing him Horcruxes and tracking down those followers who had fled when all seemed lost. Peter couldn't help the pride swelling within his chest. He was an integral part, vital even, in the return of the Dark Lord.

In those few years, the wizarding world had become lazy. They felt safe in the knowledge that the biggest threat to their safety and happiness had been completely taken care of. People saw what they wanted to see, and what they wanted to see was a world in which they could go about their own problems without having to think about the larger picture. It was almost laughable how alarmingly easy it was to infiltrate almost every important area of wizarding society. They were simply more careful this time. Less cocky. Patiently they bided their time, waiting for the enemy's weakest moment, the perfect time to strike.

Trickles of sawdust fell from the rafters around them as the witches and wizards from every nation roared their approval. The Quidditch World Cup final. Germany vs Bulgaria. Everyone who was anyone had an invitation. And _who_ happened to be both the host, biggest sponsor and personal guest of honour? Harry Potter himself. It was arguably the most heavily protected event that the wizarding world ever held, but the wards didn't protect against something that was already inside.

Peter twitched, a nervous tick he had never kicked, his head jerking rapidly from side to side. Thinking of Harry made him think of his old friends, of his younger and happier days. The days before he was dragged into this mess. What had happened to that young boy with the stars in his eyes? It was a deadly game he was playing, and it struck Peter now just how many had died because of him. He was the last Marauder left.

A wave of guilt and sadness stole not only his breath but the swell of pride that had filled his chest. He visibly deflated, and the colour seeped from his face. It was a feeling that haunted him, this guilt, something he had tried for nearly twenty years to suppress, but it would not be forgotten. Each year, it only seemed to get stronger.

"Hey, Rat-face, let's go. Stop daydreaming."

The sharp bark and guttural voice of Fenrir Greyback quickly snapped Peter out of his morose thoughts, effectively dispelling the lingering guilt. He glared at the mutant who had dared speak out against a superior and stung him quickly with a jinx. He pulled up his sleeve and examined the ever writhing Dark Mark that hissed in his skin. Seconds later heat seared through it, leaving Peter and the others gasping for breath. That was the signal.

It was time to move.

x

The screaming had finally stopped. The thousands of people who had not managed to escape the stadium had learned to be quiet, after the first couple of deaths anyway. The odd woman or child sobbed quietly in protective arms but, for the most part, they were quiet.

It had all been over rather quickly, despite the 'high security' at the event. They were no match for trained dark wizards. Chaos had erupted almost as soon as the lights had gone out. In the darkness, Death Eaters had swarmed the pitch, alerting those in the lower stands to the threat but leaving those above clueless.

It was the Ministry's own wards that were the most hindrance to those attempting to escape. Ironic indeed. A small battle had commenced, the flashing of spells illuminating certain instances, but with each revealing flash more good people lay dead on the floor in the wake of the dark army.

With the Aurors and security guards all but crushed, Voldemort used his magic to seal the rest inside and return the lights. Slowly, the screaming had quieted, and people stopped sprinting around, instead watching as Voldemort rose, seemingly of his own accord, to hover in the centre of the pitch. Harry Potter at his side.

Peter utilised the new power he had been granted as Voldemort's right-hand man and ascended as well, coming to a stop just at his side. That feeling of pride returned as he gazed out at the people cowering in the stands, filled with fear. Fear of his lord. Fear of him.

Part of Peter felt powerful, it rejoiced and revelled in the thick stench of terror that hung in the air. The pain and anguish painted on their faces was like a balm to his angry soul. And yet, that small part of Peter looked out in horror and fear. He saw the terrified children and started to feel more than a little sick. Again, guilt washed away the powerful feeling, leaving him small and cold in the face of this tragedy.

"Witches and Wizards of the world," Voldemort simpered, his raspy voice distracting Peter from his tumult of emotions. "I speak directly to all of you. I promise, I will not make the mistake again." He reached out a hand, gesturing widely with his wand to where Harry hung, suspended in the air, bound and gagged by magic.

Harry had changed in the past few years, but it was undeniably him. His dark hair flopped into his eyes, but they were still his mother's and he used them to glare, bright and fierce, up at Voldemort. The lightning bolt scar was plainly visible on his pale forehead, and as Peter watched, Voldemort reached out and traced his mark with one long, pale finger. The boy shook in rage at the unsolicited caress, but his anger only served to elicit cruel, mocking laughter from Voldemort and his assembled minions.

Peter didn't laugh.

Movement in the corner of his eye distracted him from the main spectacle, and Peter turned slightly to see Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley both watching helplessly and struggling desperately against the brutes that held them trapped.

Hermione had always been kind to Scabbers.

"The boy who lived, who lived twice," Voldemort laughed. A chilling sound. He raised Harry, putting some small distance between them. Putting on a show. Voldemort did not shout, but everyone in the stadium could hear him. This quiet show of power spoke in volumes. If he could so easily take this life, the life of the chosen one, the saviour, then how easy would it be to take theirs?

"I'm betting, Harry Potter, the third time will be the charm."

A woman screamed. The world turned green.


	9. Round 9 - One Day

Round 9

Write about Peter Pan

Defence Against the Dark Arts

 **#1:** Write about a character preparing too much for something. This could be anything. It could be something so big that everyone understands, or it could be something small and no one else understands. The character you choose to write about should be in a panic, and something unexpected has to happen (a disaster in your character's mind).

 **Word Count:** 1,500 - 5,000 words

 **Extra Prompts:** (please use at least TWO):

(character) Minerva McGonagall

(emotion) Fear

(dialogue) "I can't believe you."

Pokemon Trading Card Challenge:

Write about someone who wants to witness a mermaid or siren sighting.

One Day

The soles of his sturdy, black boots thudded against the damp boards, causing the buckle to jangle noisily as Albus Dumbledore crossed the deck of his ship. He placed pale, gnarled hands on the high wooden side of the ship and let out a harsh sigh, the sound whistling through his teeth. His blue eyes, sharp and expressive, were shadowed by the wide brim of his hat, but his gaze was unwavering as he stared hard at the section of jungle that sheltered his greatest foe.

"Cap'n?"

Albus turned slowly, his brooding stare coming to rest on the tall, skinny form of his first mate and right-hand woman – Minerva McGonagall. She looked sternly at him, her hair scraped back tightly, her lips in a firm line, her eyes direct, but Albus could see the apprehension in them. They were not winning this fight and everyone aboard the ship knew it.

"Yes?"

"We have gathered your chosen few in your quarters for a meeting, will you come?"

Albus glanced back over his shoulder, eyes once more pinned to the jungle, but swiftly turned back nodding loosely. Minerva, satisfied, turned on her heel and swiftly moved across the deck, dodging those lackey members of the Order who were not skilled enough to play a larger role. They swabbed the decks and stood around in small groups, murmuring whispers and rumours. Albus followed her towards the raised deck at the stern, where his quarters were situated. As he crossed the deck, Albus looked to the Phoenix figurehead that decorated the bow, carved in the style of his loyal companion, Fawkes. It was normally a sight that comforted the Captain, but at the moment, it held no such reassurance.

The decorative glass panes that studded the door rattled in their frames as Albus slammed it behind him and surveyed the room. There were nine other people in the room, all gathered around the large desk in the centre, hunched over the map of Neverland. They were discussing in sharp, hushed tones that stopped when he entered, every eye looking up at him.

For a second, no one spoke. They all knew how he was feeling; they all knew the devastation he felt when they had failed again. They didn't know what would happen now, and no one wanted to be the one to ask.

"Well, Captain Dumbledore, what now?" Sirius Black, one of his finest fighters, had never been one for long silences. Despite the evil looks that Lily Evans and Marlene McKinnon shot at him, the young man smiled cheerfully at his commander, as if unaware of the dire situation.

"We have been looking at the map, sir," Frank Longbottom interrupted. "Have you considered an attack from the east?"

"Or maybe even from above? Would a boy who can fly really expect us to try the same? There are hundreds of pixies on this island, all we would need to do it capture one—"

Albus slammed his hand onto the table causing everything to rattle and several people to jump back in shock. He was not often prone to such outbursts. "Do you not think," he demanded, "that I have considered every possible approach? I have 50 years of experience on all of you, and I have tried everything, but Riddle is smart, smarter than he pretends to be. This, this stupidity, this desire to never grow up, to never die, allows him to act the child, but there is a boy out there, a boy with the inhibitions of the child but the experience and the manipulative power of a man. There is nothing he won't expect. Nothing." He sighed again, pacing in front of the door as the others gazed back at him. Everyone but Minerva had fear in their eyes, the fear that this whole venture was driving him slowly, but surely, mad.

They didn't understand, not really. They were all so young, too young. They couldn't see the bigger picture. They thought that faith and trust and pixie dust would defeat this foe, but Tom Riddle was so much more than an obstacle. He was a mountain. He struck fear into Albus' heart with a quirky, boyish smile. Evil ran thick through his veins and stained his very heart. They were going to need more than pixie dust to help them.

"Minerva, take the wheel. Plot a course northward around the island." He looked up to his first mate. "We're going to see the mermaids."

X

The lagoon was eerily quiet as the small rowboats floated soundlessly into the rocky cove. The moon sparkled across the still waters but it did not illuminate any of the curious, magical creatures that lived beneath them. Albus looked around but nothing moved. He held up a hand, signalling them to stop, and both rowers halted their movements.

The rocks where the creatures could normally be found at this time of night were barren, and suddenly, this little venture didn't seem as good an idea as it had back on the relative safety of their ship.

"Captain, over there! To your left!"

Albus whipped his head around, and sure enough, a sleek head had appeared above the water. The merpeople were curious creatures. Their skin a hard grey, mottled with blue. They had no nose to speak of, simply two slits and gills fluttered down the sides of their necks. What little hair they had was slicked back. But it was their eyes, so blue, so icy that they glowed like beacons that drew Albus in the most.

As he watched, the merperson disappeared beneath the inky surface of the water, popping up again a few moments later right in front of the captain, startling the others in the boat. Albus took off his hat, his boots and his coat and allowed the mermaid, he could tell now, to coax him into the water with one cold, slimy, webbed hand.

"The one you seek to harm,  
The boy who will not die,  
Will always be too quick,  
No matter how you try."

She said in a voice as sweet as sugar. Down here, her eyes lit the water, and the slicked back hair floated like a halo around her head. She went from strange and hostile to ethereal and majestic. It was a breath-taking sight, if Albus had had breath to steal.

"You will not be the one,  
To strike the fatal blow,  
A child not yet born to us,  
Will end the constant woe.

12 years before return of hope,  
And many deaths besides,  
Tom Riddle might yet be stopped,  
Before Lord Voldemort rises.

You must be there to aid the child,  
Lead him to his death,  
But know that in this venture,  
You will draw your last breath."

X

Hours later, the sun crested over the horizon, painting the sky a beautiful mixture of pinks and yellows. Albus stood in the bow of his ship; he had not moved from this spot since their return several hours earlier. His clothes had almost dried from his encounter with the mermaid, but the words that she had imparted to him would not allow him to rest.

Albus looked out towards the jungle, where the boy terror rested peacefully in his tree, surrounded by those poor souls he had called to his side, stolen from their homes and families forever. This war between them would not end soon and it would not come cheap.

Albus thought of those he held close; Minerva, Potter, Black, Lupin, McKinnon, Evans, the Longbottoms, and even creepy little Pettigrew, he had his uses. Who would be left when this was over? Who would outlive him, and where would this child saviour, this chosen one, this lamb he must lead to the slaughter, where would he come from?

There was so much to consider, so much to plan. He didn't know how long it would be, but he knew that he would not live to see a world untainted by this evil.

Albus looked out at the new dawning of this uncertain world and he felt the familiar stirrings of fear in his stomach. He didn't know if it would be a world worth waiting for, worth fighting for, but he knew that without his sacrifice, there wouldn't be a world to fight for. He had years to prepare, to plan and to build the threads of resistance that would support the child who would save them all.

There was fear, there would always be fear—for himself and for others, for the future of the whole world—but for the first time, there was a little more than just fear. He had a plan, a direction to go in, there was a chance to beat this Riddle once and for all.

For this first time, there was just a little spark of hope there to deaden the fear.


	10. Round 10 - Decisions

**Round 10**

Ariana Dumbledore (Portrait)

Monthly One Shot August:

 **Characters/Pairings:** Harry

 **Genres:** Angst

 **Prompts:**

"I'd agree with you, but then we'd both be wrong"

Missing scene from seventh year at Hogwarts

Ancient Runes

 **Task #2:** Write about a character hesitating before an important decision.

 **Extra Prompts: (1)**

(emotion) wariness

(500-3000)

Ultimate Chocolate Frog Card Challenge

Write about Harry Potter

Decisions

Hands grabbed at Harry and supportive and excited words were exchanged as the students who had been hiding in the room of requirement streamed past Harry and out into the corridor. They had all been summoned by Headmaster Snape to the Great Hall and Harry had decided to stay hidden for a little while longer.

He tried to look at each person as they passed him, tried to reassure those who looked terrified or smile with those who were elated. He tried to remember all of their faces, as they were now, because he really didn't know if these loyal people, who stood beside him now, would survive the night. Still, the faces soon began to blur, and Harry found himself almost completely alone in the large room.

"Harry?"

He sighed and turned, looking into the concerned faces of his best friends and constant companions. Hermione was the one who had spoken, she was a step closer than Ron and looked on the verge of reaching out to him. For her sake, he forced a tired smile.

"Don't worry, I'm fine. Well, as fine as I can be under the circumstances. I'm just, going to wait here for a little, but I do have a plan."

She frowned slightly but nodded, rocking back on her heels as if she no longer had to leap forward and protect him.

"Listen, mate," Harry dragged his eyes past Hermione to Ron. His best friend seemed embarrassed, though Harry wasn't sure about what. Ron didn't look up, didn't meet his eye, and he wrung his hands obsessively. "I, I had an idea. Something I thought might help, but I have to leave to go and do it and you know I don't want to leave you alone when you might feel… well…"

"No, no. Don't worry about me. Go, search, er, your hunch. Go on, go for it. Every little helps, right?" Ron locked eyes briefly before dropping his eyes back to his shoes. "You know what, why don't you take Hermione with you? I'll just be in here and I don't want you wandering around the castle alone, safety in numbers." He chuckled lightly but it sounded hollow and forced even to his own ears.

After some minor protests from Hermione, his two friends left the room and as the door clanged shut behind them Harry felt a wave of weariness wash over him. He turned around and slid down the wall, allowing the pain and the fear and the exhaustion wash over him now that he was alone. He stared, blankly for a little while, shutting off his brain from everything around him.

"Why are you crying?"

Harry gasped at the soft voice, jerking up slightly to look around for the source of the interruption. He touched his cheek and realised that his face was indeed wet. He had been crying, hot tears staining his cheeks, without even realising it.

"Who is it? Where are you?" he croaked out, his throat thick with buried emotions. He pushed himself up and off the wall, prepared to fight even now.

"Behind you," she replied simply.

Harry spun on his heel to face the wall he had been slumped against and stared straight into the gentle eyes and calming smile of Ariana Dumbledore. The young girl, painted as she had been as the young teenager who died, gazed serenely out of the portrait at him. "I, I, I," Harry stuttered, "I didn't realise you could speak."

"Everyone can speak, just because you can't hear them doesn't mean they don't have a voice. Now, Harry, why are you crying?" Harry stared at the young girl, she was serene and appeared to be wise, but she had died young and he honestly didn't know if he could go on blindly trusting the Dumbledore family. "It's okay," she insisted, "what's said in this room, stays in this room."

Harry took a deep breath, and was surprised to find that he was shaking. "I'm scared," he blurted out, and then bit his tongue as if he could take those words back. It was the first time he had admitted it out loud, even to himself. "This all comes down to me, to my abilities and I don't know if I can do it, I don't know if I can go out there and lead these people into a battle we will probably lose. I'm not strong enough, or brave enough. They're all willing to do everything to help me, to help this cause, to defeat Voldemort and I just, I don't know if I have anything left to give."

It seemed that that one little admission had opened the floodgate and Harry found himself tumbling and tripping over his words as they rushed to escape his tormented soul. There were so many children here, so many innocent lives in danger. Who would he sacrifice to the cause next.

"I want to run away, to run away and hide, forever. I don't want this responsibility, but it was thrust on me and I'm trying to make myself go on."

Harry was still shaking after his torrent had stopped and he gasped for breath as if speaking the words had taken more out of him than this whole stupid war.

Ariana, and Harry, were both silent for a long time, but, once his breathing had slowed and Harry felt like he had more of a grip on himself and his emotions, Ariana spoke. "I'd agree with you, but then we'd both be wrong."

Slowly, Harry lifted his head and stared at the girl in the portrait.

"Your courage, Harry. Your beliefs and your strength, your ability to love and to sacrifice doesn't make you weak. You have inspired so many people to take up the fight and, yes, not all of them will survive it, but that was there decision to make. I didn't have to get involved in that fight between my brothers and Grindelwald, but I loved Aberforth so much that I couldn't bear to sit there and watch him get hurt. It cost me my life, but I don't regret it for a second."

Harry looked down at the mention of her death.

"Don't be afraid of the love and loyalty people are willing to give you, Harry. Use it to make them, and you, stronger. There is safety and strength in numbers. You are not alone."

He smiled slightly, more of an exhale than anything, but her words had really lifted a load off his chest. He felt he could go out there now and do everything to protect the people who were willing to protect him.

"You know, for a kid, you're pretty wise."

Ariana laughed. "Harry, just because I was painted as a child, doesn't mean I still am one. Aberforth reads to me, I learn. I have lived and loved far longer than you, or your parents, or your grandparents. Besides, this body is only a few years younger than yours."

He nodded, smiling properly now. "Thank you," he murmured.

"Good luck, Harry Potter."


	11. Round 11 - You Scratch My Back

Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition:

Round 11 – Ron Overreacting

2016 Multi-School Tournament:

Hogwarts Week 1 – Mermaid!AU

Defence Against the Dark Arts

 **Task #1:** Write about being freed from something or escaping from something. Alternatively, write about someone being repelled by something/someone.

 **Extra Prompts:**

(colour) purple

(dialogue) "You don't really appreciate the fresh air and blue sky until you haven't seen it for a while."

(emotion) despair

Pokemon Trading Card Challenge

(plot/theme) Viewing/fixing a lake/ocean which has been polluted by oil or man-made waste

September Event

(word) Confession

(emotion) Interested

You Scratch My Back

Hermione sighed as she considered her predicament and a wave of despair washed over her. Once again, she had only been trying to help, to make the world a better place, and now here she was being punished for all her good intentions. Sure, it was probably a bad idea for her to have come out here alone, at twilight soon to be full dark, when no one knew where she was but when she had seen the rubbish floating in the lake, her lake, she just had to clear it up.

"Well, Hermione," she whispered to herself as she watched the oars float further and further away, "this is what you get for thinking you know it all. Now what are you going to do?"

She really had no idea, she didn't know how far it was back to the shore, and the darker it got the less sure she was of even the direction that she should swim in. Hermione shivered, drawing her thin summer jacket tighter onto her shoulders as the night descended bringing with it the cold, and a slight mist that hung over the water.

It was completely uncharacteristic, and went against a good 40% of her beliefs, but in that moment Hermione felt such an overwhelming sense of loneliness and hopelessness, that she burst into tears. They weren't the quiet, pretty tears that one would expect from such a slight, delicate girl, but rather the great, heart-wrenching sobs of someone who knows they are completely alone. That no one is around to hear them sounding like a cow in labour.

"Why are you crying?"

Hermione shrieked, mid sob, and jumped so hard that the boat she was sat in rocked dangerously, water nearly sloshing over the sides. She scrambled around, looking across the water for the source of the voice but could see nothing and no one.

"Down here," the voice insisted and, cautiously, Hermione peered over the side of the boat. Sure enough a pale head floated there, wreathed with thick, ginger hair and beaming a bright smile. "Hi!" he chirped lifting a hand out of the water to wave at her. Hermione almost fainted when she noticed the translucent webbing that interlinked his fingers. "I'm Ron!"

"H-h-how did you get out here?" Hermione whispered, her eyes wide, her heart in her mouth.

"I swam," he said as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. Which, to be perfectly honest, it was. "I was swimming when I heard you crying. You know," Ron took a deep breath in through his nose, "you don't really appreciate the fresh air and blue sky until you haven't seen it for a while. Well, not blue, more black at the moment, but you get my meaning."

"And why wouldn't you have seen it in a while?" Hermione asked, an idea already hovering in the back of her mind but her intensely rational, logical mind refused to accept even the evidence her eyes were providing her.

Ron sighed. "I thought you might have figured that out by now," he waggled his co-joined fingers at her, "but I guess you're one of those people who has to see everything to believe even a little of it."

Ron disappeared back under the dark water, with a gasp Hermione leant as far over the side of the boat as she dared, peering into the murky depths in hope of catching sight of her mysterious companion. She didn't have to wait long. The water beside her began to bubble and heave before finally erupting. As Hermione tumbled backwards, into the relative safety of her boat, Ron dove gracefully through the air and splashed back into the water, accompanied by the strong, beautiful, iridescent purple tail that fused with his body where his legs should have been.

Hermione had no choice, she had to accept the fact that what she was seeing was real. This, this man was a-a mermaid. So she did the only logical thing, she began to hyperventilate. She crawled into the bottom of the boat and hugged her knees to her chest, breathing hard and fast.

Ron put his hands on the side of the boat and heaved himself out of the water slightly so he could look at the girl. It was obvious she was afraid, terrified even, and that made him mad. His previously interested expression morphed into one of disgust. He had come up here to help her, to save her from freezing out here all alone and this was the thanks he got.

"Hey!" Ron shouted, rocking the boat harshly to get her attention. "Listen, human, I know this is a lot to take in but seriously, what do you think I'm going to do? Eat you? What myth, legend or fairy tale have you ever read about cannibalistic Merfolk? I come up here and try to help you and this is the reaction I get; you know one day I'm going to learn to stop helping you stupid creatures before one of you gets me put in a tank. I'm out of here, get back to shore by yourself." He was breathing hard now too, anger flushing his cheeks as he gripped this side of the boat so hard his knuckles turned white. With another angry huff, Ron pushed off the side of the boat and dove back into the water.

"Wait!"

He heard the voice and really considered not going back, but something in her big, doe eyes had struck a chord in his chest and Ron found himself returning slowly to the surface. He crested the skin of the water and looked up at her. "Yes?"

"My name is Hermione," she whispered still looking a little afraid, "but I would really like your help, Ron, if you wouldn't mind helping me that is. It's getting really cold and, and I really don't want to be left out here alone." The last bit was whispered, as if an embarrassing confession.

Ron floated, suspended in the water and watched her carefully. For a moment, Hermione was sure he would disappear back beneath the water anyway and leave her to her fate but after a tense moment he sighed.

"I'll take you back to shore," he conceded, gliding towards her, "but on the one condition."

"Anything," she gasped, her eyes brimming with relieved and grateful tears. "Just, please, get me out of here."

"Promise you'll come back tomorrow?"

Hermione hesitated, but quickly smiled not wanting to anger him again. "Of course."


	12. Round 12 - Family Bonding

Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition:

Write a DRAMATIC story about THE WEASLEY FAMILY

Raise a Witch or Wizard:

 **Section 6:**

Write about a child's first accidental magic experience.

Ultimate Chocolate Frog Card Challenge:

Include Hogwarts: A History in your fic

Pokemon Trading Card Challenge:

(creature) otter

September Event:

(word) Exaggerate

(dialogue) "You just suck the fun out of everything." / "I do not!" / "Fun-sucker."

Family Bonding

"Owwwww!"

Rose was in the kitchen when the shout sounded. Her motherly instincts and superior hearing picked up on the distressed sound of her young son. She turned away from the idle chatter of her mother and Aunt Ginny as they gossiped about this and that over the steaming vat of beef stew and dumplings. The picturesque window of the Potter household framed the garden beautifully, all sunshine and flowers. Her father and Uncle Harry dozed in their chairs as their various grandchildren ran about squealing, but there, off to one side, her young son James sat on the ground crying, his older cousin Luke looming over him.

Rose frowned, Luke only had a few months on James, less than a year, but he was growing fast and it certainly didn't look like James had fallen over by accident, Luke didn't look a bit concerned or angry.

She hoisted the gurgling Evie higher on her hip and left the older women giggling over the fumes like a couple of wicked witches. She moved through the large sitting room, depositing the giggling baby into the lap of her bewildered father and continued out into the garden. She vaguely heard Scorpius calling after her in confusion, but she ignored him. He wouldn't be much help anyway, sissy for a Gryffindor.

The breeze was pleasantly cool against the heat of the sun as Rose emerged into the garden. She smiled briefly at her nieces and nephews as she passed them but moved with a singlemindedness towards her son who was still on the floor.

"Rose? What's wrong?"

Rose looked down with raised eyebrows at her father, pausing briefly to watch as he sputtered awake and flinched at the look in her eyes. The open copy of Hogwarts a History that he had been trying to read for the last 30 years slid from his lap and landed on the paving with a muffled thunk. "Did you have a nice sleep, daddy?" she asked pointedly in a sugar sweet tone.

Ron looked around, searching for the source of his wrong doing before meeting his daughter's eyes again. "Yes?" he said, though it came out as more of a question, smiling nervously.

He knew straight away that this had been the wrong answer, though he wasn't sure that he could have offered her a right answer. Rose narrowed her eyes and leant down towards him, hissing through clenched teeth. "My son is crying on the floor, father, and you were supposed to be watching him!"

Ron looked towards where little James was still bawling in the grass, only now noticing him for the first time, but as he looked up to speak to Rose she was already storming in the direction of her son.

"Stop crying James! You're such a baby, why do you have to ruin everything?" Luke demanded, Rose could hear the slight panic in his voice as she moved closer but he hadn't noticed her yet. There was a nasty tone in his voice and Rose knew he had been the one to push James over. It was a shock, really. They usually got on so well together.

"Y-you pu-pushed me!" James bawled, crying in that way that children do when they have worked themselves into such hysterics that they can't breathe for crying. A tatty otter toy lay in the grass to one side and Rose couldn't help wondering if this was the source of all the heartache. His tears were obviously exaggerated for maximum effect but the young boy was still more than a little put out by his cousin's hurtful words.

"Yeah, well," the four-year-old searched for a suitable come back. Rose slowed down, waiting a little to see how this would play out. She realised that she wouldn't always be able to look after James, to wrap him in cotton wool, maybe he'd be able to handle this one on his own. "You just suck the fun out of everything!"

James gasped, the tears stopped flowing, but his face turned an alarming shade of red. "I do not!" he whinged as if this were the biggest insult in the world.

Luke, realising he had struck a nerve, smirked down at the younger boy. "Fun-sucker!" he taunted. Rose sighed, moving forward to intervene but she didn't move in time. These was a flash, a bang and before anyone could do anything or even realise what had happened young Luke was flat on his back, red sparks stinging his big, round cheeks.

For a second the whole house stopped, even those who were safely inside looked up frozen from their conversations and distractions. The children who had been running around looked towards the commotion, their eyes wide.

Then Luke opened his mouth, and began to wail.

Adults appeared from all directions, but Rose rushed towards her boy, leaving Luke to be dealt with by Albus and his wife. She searched James for marks, for any sign of the sparks that had stung little Luke, but she could see non. His pale, soft skin was unblemished.

It was odd, Rose thought, where had they come from so violently and so suddenly, but as she looked carefully at James she realised that he son was shaking ever so slightly. His cheeks were flushed bright pink, his tiny hands curled into fists, and the hair on his head and arms was raised slightly as if static and suddenly it came to her.

The sparks had come from James.

She gasped with the sudden realisation, her boy had become so emotionally over worked that he had displayed his first bout of accidental magic. She couldn't help being a little proud as the other adults fussed over Luke. His magic had been used for defence and attack, he wasn't going to be walked all over. Maybe he would be an auror, just like his daddy.


End file.
